I may later do a miniseries chronicling my stay in Ghana. However, I must write this piece now, being pained in my soul by a disturbing experience. I share this as it concerns descendants of those Africans brutally ripped from the content; indeed anyone who believes in righting grievous historical wrongs. First though, my sojourn was a very educational, exciting, refreshing, inspirational, happy one. I was treated like a brother by all. There, Caribbean people and music are highly regarded, our intellectual and sporting achievements earning us genuine respect, so whence my pain?
Last Wednesday, I visited the Elmina and Cape Coast “Castles” which are actually dungeons where my forbearers were held in the most horrific conditions imaginable, then were packed on Slavers bound for the Americas/Caribbean, where they willed themselves to survive the most brutally-inhumane system ever invented. Being a student of history, I knew much about what I was going to see.
Additionally, my hosts, poet Edwin Djani and his brother, Alfred Nii Djani, did all to prepare me to face this part of the story of our holocaust. We visited Elmina first. As the Guide did his recital, I realised he didn’t know, the “full”, and so filled in many details. There was one British white woman in our group, and as I spoke, some became uncomfortable. I didn’t backdown, insisting, “The truth must be told!” The Guide, agreeing fully, went on, relating stories of Elmina’s white governors, explaining plaques honouring them, pointing out their specially marked graves… No story was told of a single victim; they remained nameless, faceless, voiceless, nothingness, while their murderers were glorified. The volcano in me began an effusive eruption, but I kept the lid on. Before leaving, I made clear that it’s a nasty insult, a kick in my fore parent’s and my face to call this dungeon a castle; it’s heartless mockery of us. I wasn’t challenged. Later, as he walked me to our car, the Guide, thanking me profusely, requested that I provide a list of recommended reading.
On arrival at the Cape Coast dungeon, my hosts decided that we didn’t need a guide as I was more knowledgeable than any. We set about studying the place, taking pictures and videos. I again noted the exaltation of these evil doers, but here it was worse. Their graves were beautifully manicured with tapes around signifying these were “holy grounds;” while plaques celebrated their governorships. Alfie remarked, “You are right, the murderers are glorified and not a word about the victims.” He went to the person in charge and asked inter alia, why there was nothing significant about the victims. This man began stammering before claiming there was a mass grave. I immediately asked where is it? He again began stammering. I then asked, why is this grave not shown on the map of this dungeon. He was dumb. That was when the eruption became explosive.
I launched into him and other staffs. I told them they know those governors oversaw and committed the worst atrocities on my forebearers; they are aware that these vultures selected the young women to rape, those who refused to surrender were chained by their feet to eight cannon balls and left to starve to death. Millions died, their blood a sacrifice to these cruel villains, but here you salute them, using the money we pay to visit from whence we came, to perfume the history of those who savaged our ancestors. “What kind of black people are you?!” I demanded, “This is an outrage, the mother of all insults. Don’t you people have brains, hearts, and souls?! The ancestors paid with their lives, now you take their decedents’ money to honour these genocidal beasts!” Edwin tried to stop me, but Alfie countered, thundering, “You shut up! Shut up! He is right! This country should be ashamed!” Everyone was stunned into absolute silence as my onslaught continued. The director finally found his tongue, “You are right, you are so right,” I am sorry.” His team and ALL the visitors expressed their approval. “You people at this dungeon make me sick!” I blazed. Alfie completed the coup de grace, adding a few choice words of his own before declaring, “Let’s go!” We headed to the car.
Ten minutes later Edwin joined us, informing that the staff apologised to me and to the people of the diaspora. He thanked us, then informed me that our chauffer had already told him, just from observing me, he knew I would not let this nonsense go unchallenged. I was dismayed to be also advised that I am the only visitor to have condemned this practice. Alfie and I know, we have a battle ahead. Will you join us?